The One That Got Away
by Crank-01
Summary: Stolen away in the middle of the night, Haven de Angelis gets the shock of her life when she realises her captor is actually Jin Kazama, the most wanted criminal boss in the world.
1. Chapter 1

I had a dream before they came for me.

I was running, thud, thud, thud, against the damp concrete of a long, blackened road. Trees flanking either side of me, I wondered where exactly I was going, and who was to greet me at the end of this road. An ominous cloud hung, a curtain slowly tearing from its rail, high above my head, and watched me with sad eyes:

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

I sighed myself awake. The sun was being particularly cruel in the heat it threw over London, making it so breathtakingly hot, I was certain all my organs were slowly but surely cooking. The darkened blue sky winked at me: I had forgotten to close my curtains.

Had I?

The window was open too, wide, although I couldn't recall opening it at all.

Nor did I remember not closing my curtains. I always closed my curtains.

I was the curtain-closing kid, if such a thing existed.

And then, with tired eyes, I watched two shadows manoeuvre past my dressing table, the sheen of their black suits reflecting back at me from the bedside mirror.

Two shadows. Moving. In my room. Without apparent reason.

Unless I was mistaken, my room was being ransacked.

Only I _was _mistaken. These people weren't looking for any item at all.

No, these people were looking for me.

They stopped in front of me, as I drew my duvet up to my chin, fear immobilising me.

"Don't worry," one of them purred, "We won't hurt you,"

How ironic. Two hooded figures bound into my room willy nilly and then reassure me that's it actually okay, they aren't axe murderers about to grind my bones to make their bread.

Well.

I took in a deep breath, and screamed.

They acted quicker than I imagined; the small, nimbler one pounced onto my bed, silencing me with a hand clutching my throat, squeezing my windpipe. All the air fled from my lungs, and I felt a surge of panic swell inside of my stomach. Oh god, they were going to strangle me to death. I was going to die of asphyxiation.

Holy shit.

"No!" the other roared, "We don't hurt her. We deliver her."

Deliver me? I wasn't a freakin' chicken korma. The tiny black figure released me at once, and I relished in the warm oxygen that floated back into me. I breathed in, and out, in and out, once, twice, thrice.

I was okay.

I wasn't dead, yet.

"HELP!" I yelled, "HELP ME! DAD! DAD, HELP ME!"

I held on fearfully to the headboard of my bed, as the larger one tried to drag me out from under my blankets. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a small black bag to my left, sprawled out on the floor: my toolbox.

Before we continue, perhaps I should explain my inane love of automobiles of any sort. Planes, trains, cars especially, I loved. I would often hang out at my local garage, trying to convince the old garage tech to let me have a look at some of the cars, to do an oil change, to just give me a job.

No dice, of course, but I simply enjoyed watching the boisterous men roll into the yard with their ugly, underdeveloped trucks, and demand new tires.

What they really needed, was my expertise.

But of course, I kept quiet. If my dad found out I was lurking by the garage, he would have my head. Anything unladylike, he sternly disapproved of.

"HELP ME!" I cried once more, as one of them dislodged my hands from where I had held on.

I fell to the floor, thankfully right by my toolbox. I quickly unlocked it, and began throwing whatever was heavy and sharp at the intruders.

Yes, maybe it wasn't the best of ideas.

But at the time, it was all I had.

My eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness, and I could make out the shapes of a man and a woman. The woman just managed to dodge a stray spanner, and the man collided with a screwdriver – seeing they were distracted, I made a break for the stairs.

Too bad I tripped over my own foot and fell down them.

No, seriously. I just dropped.

Almost as though the gods themselves were playing a cruel joke, I fell down all twenty-five stairs, landing with a thud on the floor.

There went my chance of escaping.

I didn't even bother to protest the second time they grabbed me; I was a goner.

My dad would find me three days from now in a ditch, missing my eyeballs and spleen.

"What do you want with me? Where are you taking me?" I hissed, as the man hitched me onto his heavy-set shoulder.

I kicked, and punched, and scratched, but it was no good – as though he were made of ...metal.

Weird.

To my utter surprise, as the woman unlocked the door, I saw a smooth, shiny stretch limo waiting outside. The windows were blacked out, but unless I was mistaken, that was the destination of my capture.

Not too shabby, I suppose, if I weren't being kidnapped.

"DAD!"

I realised, despite my dark humour, I was crying.

Why were they doing this to me?

Snatching me from my father, the only family member I had left. The only one that loved me, Haven de Angelis, the freaky mechanic with the raven coloured hair and weird PI father.

Why were they doing this to me?

Tear rolled down my cheeks, and I began shaking, shivering in fear.  
>What were they doing to do to me?<p>

I was placed back onto my feet, and the woman opened up the limo door. I screamed once more, and made an attempt to run.

"She's a live one," the man giggled, grabbing the back of my nightdress and pushing me inside, my bare skin grazing the cold leather.

It smelt of blood and sadism; I closed my eyes, and began rocking back and forth.

This was all part of the dream. I would wake up and be okay. I would be okay. I would be okay.

"Hello,"

My eyes snapped open.

A guy was staring back at me, on the opposite set of seats, smiling, somewhat enigmatically.

He couldn't have been much older than me, nineteen at the most, with these beautiful dark eyes that reeked of pain, anguish. He was donned in nothing but a pair of black pinstriped trousers and a large fur coat, bear, I believe, - exposing his brilliant chest, toned, beautiful - and his jet black hair fell solemnly to just below his ears, his fringe flopping down, just scraping his eyes.

He was lovely.

"Don't be shy," he licked his lips, and I suddenly thought of vampires.

God, what if he was a vampire?

Oh wait, of course not, vampires are lame. That shitty twilight rubbish and whatnot. All that unoriginal crap.

This was _reality_ and in _reality _hot guys were not vampires.

Pull yourself together, Haven.

"Haven, right?" he leaned across, and held out his hand.

I got a whiff of his scent: raspberries. Lucky for him, I liked raspberries.

"Haven," I repeated, tonelessly, as though all of a sudden I had forgotten my own name.

"Haven. Do you know why you are here?" the stranger asked, drawing a bottle of wine from nowhere in particular and pouring himself a glass.

I shook my head.

"Your father owed me. We warned him, and warned him, not to screw over the Mishima's. But he did. And so, we took you. The last thing he had. Charming, right?" he took a sip, his eyes as red as the wine.

I swallowed.

"Mishima?" I echoed.

"You don't know who I am, at all, do you, Haven?"

He put his glass down, this time moving all the way over to my set of seats. He pressed his lips to my ear, my face burning, and whispered:

"I'm Jin, Haven. Jin Mishima,"

And on hearing those two words, I realised just how much trouble I really _was_ in...


	2. Chapter 2

Jin Mishima, for those of you who are unaware, was the most sought after criminal boss in the world, and owner of the infamous Mishima Zaibatsu – although how he managed to pry it away from his greedy grandfather's paws is still unknown.

An underground tournament has been speculated, but the likelihood of that was zero.

"What could my dad possibly have wanted from the likes of you? You're nothing but a thug," I breathed, remembering a newspaper article about how Jin had allegedly slaughtered an entire family in Japan.

How could something so beautiful be so very...brutal.

It was such a waste.

"Thug? Now, that's not very nice, is it?"

He reached out to tickled my chin.

I jolted away from him, and thudded my fists against the window, which was surprisingly resilient for glass.

"HELP! PLEASE! ANYONE! MURDER! MURDER!"

"Quiet, for goodness sake-"

"JIN MISHIMA! JIN IS IN HERE! HELP!"

A fist flew from nowhere, and was greeted rather unpleasantly by my eye. I yelped, a horrific pain shooting all the way down the right side of my face; unless I was mistaken, Jin had just silenced me with a punch. Not only was he a hardened mafia boss wanted for more killing than I care to remember, but he was also a girl-beater.

Jerk.

Clutching my bruised skin helplessly, I watched his clenched jaw as it tightened and tightened, before closing my eyes. This was all a dream. It had to be. A single, miserable tear dribbled down my cheek and dripped onto the glittering leather. I hurt. I was throbbing all over, despite the fist only touching my eye.

Where was I going?

Was I being trafficked?

Oh god, what if they sold me into sex trafficking?

I wasn't a delectable catch – I liked, who likes a girl who likes cars?

"It is in your best interest to be noiseless throughout the rest of our journey. Heathrow Airport is only ten minutes away, so you won't have to wait long,"

Heathrow Airport?

I REALLY WAS BEING TRAFFICKED!

"Please don't traffic me...I'm rubbish at sex. I'm still a virgin. I'll make shoes if you like, or footballs, but please, not sex. Please,"

Jin quirked an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"Well," I studied his sharp, pretty face, searching for signs of deception, "You are taking me to an airport. To sell me as a sex slave. Right?"

Silence.

Suddenly, he laughed. It was a brilliant laugh, highly amused, and I flushed with embarrassment at the idea that he may think I'm an idiot. He was a criminal, no doubt, but he was still hot. Being laughed at was never a good thing.

"You must be joking. Why would I want _you _as a 'sex slave'? Not only do you not have the right body, but you talk too much. No-one would buy you,"

Well, that shut me up.

Sort of.

"How dare you – what's wrong with my body?"

I ran cross country every other day, and had a small, athletic body that wasn't too broad but wasn't too thin. I did have abs, if that was anything to go by. All of a sudden, I felt ugly. My body wasn't right? What was 'right' in the bloodied eyes of Jin Mishima?

"Too solid...my buyers like people who jiggle. Do you jiggle?"

"Well..no,"

"So you aren't being trafficked, are you?"

I considered this.

"Then what? What am I here for? Are you going to kill me?"

"If you don't stop talking, definitely,"

The limo skidded to a halt outside one of Heathrow's private terminals. The door swung open and a red cloak was thrown over me before I could even begin a protest; I was ushered inside somewhere, as suddenly the musky heat was replaced by cool air conditioning. A seat appeared beneath me, and the woman who had tried to strangle me in my room began scrambling around in a rucksack. She produced a passport and sunglasses, and handed them to me briskly:

"You'll need these,"

The passport was mine. Where had she gotten this?

"Jin has his ways," she said automatically, getting up and giving me a hard look.

"Sorry," I reached out, and grabbed hold of her wrist, "I didn't quite catch your name,"

She was alarmingly quaint for someone with such a vicious grip; long blonde hair, a full, thick fringe, wearing an all white skirt-suit with red trim around the skirt and blazer. Her eyes were cold but her face was sweet, so I assumed her impassiveness was down to her job, not some sort of vendetta against me.

"Emily. Emily Rochefort. My friends call me Lili,"

"Well, Emily, where exactly are we going?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she muttered something unintelligible, before turning on her heel, away into the distance. I tore the cloak off of my head, and found myself staring into the eyes of the man who had stolen me away. He was just as intimidating as Lili; white hair, bare chest and army cargo pants. One of his beady eyes was ice blue, and the other black. He looked more like a robot than a human.

"How could something so puny hold the key?" he mumbled to himself, his ice eye twinkling curiously.

"I'm sorry, but, the key?"

He ignored me.

"Brian!" I heard Jin snap from behind me.

He was talking animatedly into his phone, and pointing at suitcases that had materialised beside him. He motioned for Brian to take them away, and Brian obeyed. Jin strode over after his phonecall. He looked flustered, but determined to keep his cool.

"So," he looked at me, "Ready?"

"For what, exactly?"

"Your first trip to Asia," he winked at me.

I raised my eyebrows.

"I hope you like Japan," he grinned, "Because that's going to be headquarters for a while."


	3. Chapter 3

I had never been in first class before, and considering that I was being held captive, against my will, illegally being shipped to Asia, the comfort factor wasn't too low.

The view wasn't bad either.

I was directed to a plush white chair as far away from the toilet as possible – I guess they assumed someone so tiny would rarely take a piss – and told to be quiet until take off.

"Yes sir," I rolled my eyes, taking the pen and pad off of the coffee table before me and beginning a rather harsh doodle of Jin's enormously sized head.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye the entire time; god, he was breathtaking. I never cared to notice his cheekbones, the way his eyes narrowed to little slits when someone told him something he didn't want to hear, the slight swagger in his walk as he loped towards Lili, who stood, making a grim face, by the plane exit.

She muttered something to him, looking at me the entire time. I pretended not to notice, continuing my drawing. Somehow, I managed to divert to a rough sketch of the engine of a Ferrari Dino, so immersed in what I was doing that I did not notice Jin take the sit opposite me, nor did I notice his dark, haunted eyes absorb my every move, every flick of the wrist, every blink.

The plane revved up its engines in preparation to fly.

"Aren't you afraid?" he suddenly asked, dryly.

I sighed, and put my pad and pen down.

"Scared," I said carefully.

"You have been taken from your home, for no apparent reason, and are on an impending flight to Japan. Yet you sit and draw. Calm as anything,"

He almost said the last sentence with admiration.

Almost.

"Are you doing to hurt me, Jin Mishima?"

I didn't know whether I was imaging things, but I could have sworn that he flinched when I said 'Mishima'. Against my better judgement, I decided not to explore it.

"I don't know yet," he locked eyes with me, mischief and strife twinkling effervescently as the plane jiggled, joggled, jangled.

"Then until you know, I'm safe. Until you know, I can keep drawing, right?"

And so I resumed; pen, paper, pen, paper, pen, paper.

And so he resumed watching, much to the annoyance of his two henchmen.

They stood, awkwardly, off to one side, trying to get his attention, and failing every time. Eventually, Brian mustered up the courage to clear his throat right by Jin's ear.

"Jin, we have a problem,"

Slowly, Jin turned around in his seat and stared at Brian, ice-daggers. I gave a smirk to myself.

"What is it?"

"The pilot doesn't approve of us taking _her_ –" he looked at me accusingly, "- aboard. He won't take off unless she gets off,"

Now the attention was refocused on me.

I swallowed.

"We could always kill her,"

I was all of a sudden lifted from my seat, and being dragged under the shoulders, thrown onto the plane floor. The sound of metal against metal made me jerk worriedly; someone had unsheathed a blade.

_Now _was the time to be scared.

I felt the advancements, one foot after the other.

Pad. Pad. Pad. Pad.

He grabbed my hair, a fistful, and I found myself crying again.

I was weak. I cried. Why couldn't I just take it like a man?

The knife drew nearer to my throat. I held my breath.

Lord have mercy on my soul. I closed my eyes.

The silver touched my trachea, cut a little of my flesh, dee –

"Touch her again, and I will kill you."

My eyes snapped open. The blade had disappeared, and Jin had materialised in front of me. Brian was on the floor, half of his face bleeding. Lili was shaking with fear in the corner of the plane. The acid in Jin's voice troubled me more than his motive for saving me: it were as though, for a split second, the devil himself had entire Jin.

I knew without a doubt that he meant every word I said.

"Tell the pilot he will take off. Tell him that the girl stays. And tell him that if there are any more problems, I will personally find his family, every last one of them, cut them all into little pieces, and mail them to him, one finger at a time,"

Lili stood, frozen.

"GO!" Jin barked.

She scurried off, rat-like, jumping over me and disappearing into the cockpit. Brian had scrambled to his feet, and was dabbing at his blood-stained cheek with a moist tissue, avoiding all eye contact with anyone.

I almost felt sorry for him.

Jin didn't help me up. He shivered once, as though consumed by a rogue chill, before taking up his place again the chair opposite me, folding his legs one over the other.

I think I slept on the floor for a while. It was all very overwhelming, being kidnapped, and it was certainly draining. I needed a moment. To rest. To breathe. To just remember who I was, and what was happening to me.

After a while, I got up. With long, powerful strides, I hurried over to him, to Jin, and pressed my lips together.

"Why? Why stop him from killing me? You owe me nothing, and I owe you nothing,"

Silence.

I gritted my teeth.

"Why?" I demanded again.

This time, he let out a low growl.

"It was not an act of kindness. You are nothing to me. Except at the moment, I need you alive. Your safety is compromised for the time being. Now shut up, and go to sleep. Japan is a long way away from England."

"But-"

"Don't make me regret my decision to keep you alive through this flight.

And so that was how the flight streamed alone. In utter quiet. Except my thoughts along filled the entire plane. I wasn't expendable at the moment. That was why he hadn't killed me. Not because he _liked _me or anything.

How disappointing.


	4. Chapter 4

"Haven? Haven? Haven."

A soft kick to my shin set my leg on fire, and I awoke, head dangling between my knees in the most uncomfortable sleeping position I had ever attempted, only to be staring into the submissive face of Lili.

Just when I thought the nightmare had ended.

"We're here. Get your shit together,"

"My what?" I grunted.

I hadn't taken anything onboard. The only thing I supposed I could lay claim to was the pad and pen, and now I couldn't find them anywhere. I looked over at Jin; he was dozing somewhat stiffly, concentration still on his face even through slumber – I smiled to myself. If the circumstances were different, I guess I would have tried to build a friendship with him. He wasn't _all _bad.

Was he?

"Haven, get up!" Lili snapped, grabbing me by the shoulder and pulling me up.

I slapped her hand away, my eye suddenly catching something on the floor. It was my pad, only it wasn't folded over to the blank piece of paper I had left it on. Instead, a weird creature climbed across the page – tall, foreboding, with marvellous wings ascending from its broad back. The skin tone was greyish, and a strange tattoo was inscrolled all over its skin, black, like a chasm.

I frowned: I hadn't drawn this.

I picked it up, and traced the lines. They were smooth, the hand of an artist, yet I hadn't figured anyone else onboard with an eye for art besides myself.

What was the creature even supposed to be?

It looked like a demo-

"Haven!"

A hand grabbed my entire face and began dragging me alone the plane carpet towards the exit. "

"Let me go!" I managed to cry, somewhat indignantly, as I was pushed down the gangway, still waving the pad about in some sort of form of defence.

The rest of the journey was a blur – I didn't much like Japan. It was noisy, and bright, and everyone spoke a language I couldn't understand, and had no interest in learning. I didn't see Jin either, not since the plane in which I had been cruelly excavated without word of where I was going and why exactly I was going there. I hadn't even been given the courtesy of contacting my father, who I figured by now would be wondering where I had gone in the middle of the night.

By the time the car (the seventh or eighth one I had been passed around to) began to slow to a stop outside a large yet humble mansion, my eyes were already heavy lidded, and my brain was beginning to do somersaults.

I hadn't had a drink of water in such a long time...

"Haven?"

A different face now presented itself to me – it was warmer, kinder than those that I had seen in the passing hours. Female, short spiky hair, pretty in the dark Japanese moonlight.

"Haven? You okay?"

I shook my head. I felt like my entire body was crumpling, dying. With help from this stranger, I wobbled up the mansion steps, and into the foyer. It was so...graceful. Hard to believe this was where I was to be kept prisoner. I blinked in the harsh light.

Where was Jin?

He was a prick, undoubtedly, but I looked forward to seeing his pretty, haughty face whenever it was all too overwhelming. Yet he was nowhere.

He was in these walls, on my skin, in my head, yet nowhere to be seen.

Everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Curious.

"Your room is this way," the lady directed me to a room on the far right, "Dinner will be brought forth shortly,"

"Gracias," I said flatly, forgetting for a moment that I wasn't in Spanish class.

I moved like a sloth over to the room, sank through the door, and collapsed onto the floor.

Everything went black.

"_Hello?" _

_I turned around. _

_I was standing in a white room, everything white, even the dress I was donned in. _

_A flash blinded me temporarily: someone was coming towards me. _

"_Hello? Who are you? Where am I?" _

"_Kyoufu wo oshiete yarou!" _

I awoke with a start.

It was still night time, although my curtains were drawn. All was silent, except for some rough noises coming from a room a few doors down from mine.

I made the fatal mistake of going to investigate.

Perhaps, I thought, as I hugged my chest, I would stumble across something that would help me figure out why I had been stolen away.

My footsteps were soft on the bare floorboards, and I could barely see anything through the blackness.

I stopped outside the room; inside, I could hear shrieks, a woman, and grunts, a man.

Oh god, it was Jin: he was killing someone!

What should I do?

Oh shit.

Mustering up all my courage, I grabbed the doorknob, and turned.

I gasped.

To my horror, no-one was being murdered at all.

No, Jin was fucking.

He was screwing a girl, clutching at her skin desperately, as though she was fuelling his life, giving him the energy to live.

She, from what I could see – and without bitterness, I assure you – was nothing special. Japanese, short black bob. From the clothes I spied lying on the floor, she was a hooker.

I had no idea why, but tears began to burn the backs of my eyes.

Jin froze, as though sensing my trouble.

But by the time he got off his victim and turned around, I had already fled back to my room, locking the door behind me, although I didn't expect him to chase after me.

In fact, I locked the door in hopes that I would lock all the bad feelings away. Push out the blackness, the ugly, the pain, and just be Haven. Haven the budding mechanic.

I climbed into the fresh, crisp bed, and forced myself to sleep.

Every bit of me hoped that Jin died before I could awake again, simply to spare myself the shame.

The shame.

The sadness.

But mostly, the jealousy.


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the night was a dreamless slumber, although when I awoke, I did not have those ignorant jitters that people so often speak of, the ones where you don't know exactly where you are, and your heart thud thud thuds, as though you've descended to hell overnight.

Unless hell is actually just one big porno, I was still very much on earth.

I could hear noises coming from down the hall, and decided to investigate. I hadn't much more to lose, as I had already been stolen away and was currently situated into a foreign country on the premise of something definitely illegal: how dangerous could Japanese bacon be?

Slippers on, I trundled down the endless hall, passing Jin's room and visibly flinching. The image of him freezing, paused above his victim as though someone had turned him to stone for a split second, burned continuously inside my brain.

Over and over, his bare back, the grunts...

"Do you plan on moving?"

Lili materialised beside me, eyebrows knitting together into a grimace. I started; unsure as to how exactly she managed to sneak up on me so easily, but carried on towards the source of the delicious smells: golden syrup, scrambled eggs, chocolate.

As if on cue, my stomach growled irritably.

The kitchen was a vast space, lavishly decorated and full of strange warmth that seemed to only decorate this alcove of the house. Every other room carried a queer, almost demonic chill within its walls; not the kitchen, however – it smiled, offered up refuge, and hot waffles.

A small lady with a pinched expression was shovelling fried eggs onto a serving tray: she gave me a haughty look when I passed her by, but said nothing, as though she was under an oath not to speak a word to the English kid.

Lili handed me a plate piled high with all of the delights stacked onto the countertop, and gestured for me to join her in a booth beneath a tall, condescending window.

The weather outside glared at me, winds whipping the pane and the glass.

"Where's Jin?" I asked automatically, noticing that everyone else seemed to be accounted for, except for the master himself.

This absence however did not devalue the need for a good breakfast; Brian was happily spreading a hunk of 'I can't believe it's not butter!' on his fourth muffin, lined up very strategically on his tray, a few women similar in build to Lili that I did not recognise stirred hot mugs of coffee surreptitiously; a sullen looking girl with unkempt hair and a sour look plastered permanently onto her furious face slurped her French soup, so angrily it were as though she had a personal vendetta against it, and was now settling the score.

"I don't know," Lili said simply, her face then turning suspicious, "Why?"

"Nothing," I mumbled into my orange juice, the impatience rising steadily in the pit of my stomach.

Bzzzzzz.

Bzzzzzzz.

Bzzzzzzzz.

"What's that?" I asked, putting down my fork and turning to face the window looming down on us.

A sharp, piercing noise, not unlike the buzzing of a swarm of savage bees, hissed through the entire room. A quiet descended on us all, and Lili stood, stunned, and peered out the window herself.

Suddenly, she gasped.

"Everyone get the fuck down. _Now!_" she yelled.

As if practiced before, the entire room whipped into action. Brian produced a scintillating machine gun from beneath the table he was seated at, and loaded it without even looking. In fact, he was looking at...at me. He mouthed something to Lili that I couldn't quite decipher, but Lili didn't give me much time to racket my brains: she yanked me by the arm, and shoved me beneath a gap in the kitchen countertop.

"Don't moved!" she instructed, "Even if the room is falling down around you, do – not – move!"

BZZZZZZ.

BZZZZZZ.

Smash.

Something had crashed right through the window, shattering it to pieces. Shards of glass fell in front of me, and through their reflection I could see three people, one, the obvious leader, with a mass of obnoxiously coloured red hair.

Bullets ricocheted around the room, and I closed my eyes tight.

Now, I was afraid.

I heard screams of violence, not fear, the slams of fists hitting skin, bones cracking, chambers running empty of ammunition and having to be reloaded.

It was carnage. I could see blood now, blood running down the tiled flooring, and I hugged my knees in tight, waiting for the madness to stop.

I counted down myself, trying to ease the panic swelling in my heart: . .

Oneandtwenty.

Twoandtwenty.

.

Twentyseven.

Twentyeight.

Twentynine-

And as if by magic, all was calm.

I was so confused; what was that noise? Who was firing shots at whom? Why had Brian seemed so worried, and what had he mouthed to Lili? Why was Lili so concerned with keeping me safe? And why could I hear nothing now, nothing at all, except...except approaching footsteps...

I swallowed, a scream trapped in my throat.

Thick, worker boots crunched on glass right before me, and the red hair was hard to ignore. I forced myself to look up, to meet the eyes of my executioner, and was surprised to see he had a placid look on his face.

"You okay down there?" he asked, almost satirically.

I went to reply, only to discover my mouth had gone horribly dry. Instead, I just nodded, and he laughed, and smiled.

I melted into a warm, romantic pool onto the floor. It was a cheeky, impish laugh, the ones that are only projected in fairytales, not abductions and murders and rich Japanese men who screw cheap prostitutes in the night.

The laugh, his presence, made me forget my sorrows.

Reflecting on this, perhaps this was exactly why I was always doomed to be in a relationship. I was a destructive person. Everything good, everything sharp and polished and clean I had to destroy. Ruining things, making myself miserable, lonely, was what I was best at.

And as I took the hand the kind stranger was offering, I thought – rather sadly – that after he knew me, after he learnt my name, his laugh was never going to be the same.

"I'm Hwoarang," he said, baring his teeth into a grin, "You're Haven, right?"

"Right," I said after a long, considerably awkward pause.

"Well, Haven. We're here to save you, I guess. Or at least, make sure Jin doesn't get you mixed up in his whacko projects,"

"What?" I quirked an eyebrow.

"The Mishima Zaibatsu. They do weird things, and especially with someone of your talents, they're going to do bad things to you. And the Mishima's can't win. We won't let them,"

"I'm sorry," I held up my hand, suppressing a giggle, "I think you've got the wrong person. I haven't got any 'talents' – I'm just Haven. Plain, depressed, sarcastic Haven. I'm not this talented person that you think I am,"

He cocked his head to the side, and shook it.

"No, you're definitely her. Prettier than I imagined, maybe because the picture we had was quite young, I will give you that, but you still look just like the girl we were told to rescue,"

"Why would I need to be rescued so quickly? Am I in danger?"

"Quit the chit-chat, Red, we need to hit the road before Jin gets here,"

A tall, caramel-skinned lady approached us on the right, shoving a helmet over her head and heading towards the window.

And then it hit me: the bzzzz! Motorcycles!

They stood, three, red and blue and green, winking at me mischievously, as though they knew something I did not.

Which apparently everyone around here did.

"Wait. What the hell is going on? I can't-"

"No time for that yet, missy!" he picked me up over his shoulder, and carried me over to the red bike in three long strides.

He settled me down onto the seat of the bike, and was about to climb over in front of me when I jumped off, with quite an impressive resilience.

"I can't go with you!" I cried.

The caramel-skinned stranger and another girl with classically Asian features and dark hair tied up into two pig-tails groaned in annoyance.

"Why not?" Hwoarang said, shooting them a black look.

"I can't – I can't get on bikes, okay? What if I fall and crack my head open? Or worse, get caught in a collision! Or worse, get shot! Or worse-"

He put his hand over my mouth to quieten me: his skin smelt of rust and oranges. I looked down at his large paw, then up into his eyes. They were dark, quizzical eyes, the kind that were easier to trust if you needed reassurances.

"You're not going to fall. Or get caught in a collision. Or get shot. In fact, it's going to be a real smooth ride. Just hold onto my waist, tight. And close your eyes,"

"But-"

"NO MORE BUTS!" the caramel-skinned stranger now screamed, "We have to go! Jin is coming!"

Hwoarang worked fast, throwing me back onto the bike and passing me a spare helmet. I put it on, pulled down the visor to cover my eyes. He did the same, and revved up the engine.

The girl in pigtails looked over at me, pulled a face.

I tried to return it, but she had already sped off through the hole in the wall where the window should have been, black smoke puffing out lethargically from her exhaust pipe.

The caramel-skinned strange followed suit, and just before Hwoarang pressed the accelerator he tapped the hands that were already held together tightly around his waist, and said:

"Do you trust me?"

"No!" I yelled over the engine, "But I trust _them _even less!"

Sure enough, Lili and Brian had reappeared in the doorway to the kitchen, wielding two very efficient looking shotguns.

" Well, here goes nothing!"

"Nothing! That's a terrible attitude to have! Here goes everything!" I retorted, and my reply was met simply with another mouth-watering laugh, an unfamiliar passiveness settling into my bones as it reverberated around my body.

I held onto him tighter, but not for safety, although we were only just narrowly missing bullets and cars as we crossed into a whole other dimension of downtown Tokyo . I held on tighter to breathe him in more, to drink in his scent, to try and mimic the coolness of his persona, the confidence of his aura.

Something weird was happening, the world was falling apart, but in that moment, time moved in slow, supple motions, and we rode the motorcycle as though our lives depended on it.

Mostly because they did.


	6. Chapter 6

A warehouse began to climb into view, small and desolate, despite being encompassed but the antiquities of Japan.

We drew to a halt, and I removed my helmet gratefully; it felt like I was pregnant out of my brain, beneath that thing.

"You've gone real pale, Haven," Hwoarang said, worriedly, staring at my face so intently I could already feel the colour rising to my cheeks.

Those eyes.

"I'm okay," I waved him off, "I'm glad to be away from that place. It wasn't nice, you know? But I guess now you're going to send me back to my dad, so it's all good, right?"

A queer silence fell upon us all.

Hwoarang exchanged a glance with the caramel-skinned stranger, then looked back at me.

"Haven-"

"What? What?" The panic rose in my throat, a scream trapping there.

Something was wrong. In the pit of my stomach, crawling stealthily up into my heart, puncturing my septum, was a horrible feeling that my life would never return to how it was before the abduction.

Hwoarang and his posse had no intentions at all of sending me back home.

They too had another agenda for me.

"I'm not the right person to tell you this –"

"Tell me what?" I interrupted my voice high with fright.

"Quit interrupting me, okay. It's hard enough as it is,"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your dad is dead," the caramel-skinned girl said calmly, brushing past me and taking away my helmet as she did so.

My entire body went numb, cold; dead? The claws of death, stealing my father away from the earth? Plying him from life, shoving him into the ground far too young, far too effervescent. My head began to whirl, to twist and twirl like a baton, round and round and round.

"What?"

"Your dad is dead," she replied, "He was killed the night you were taken,"

"That's impossible!" I objected, "It can't be!"

Hwoarang put a consolatory hand on my shoulder, which I shrugged off brusquely. Dead? Dead? No, never.

"I understand you're upset, Haven. I do, but –"

"Get away from me!" I cried, my heart thudding hard against my ribcage.

Ever since that night I was abducted, my life has been throttled to the point of breakage. I wanted to die myself. I couldn't go on. Not like this. The constant stream of ignorance, being taken from place to place without explanation, forced to hear things I didn't want to hear, see things I didn't want to see.

"Haven,"

He looked at me now, steadily, something in his eyes that had an uncanny resemblance to what I imagined Inspector Goole would look like in 'An Inspector Calls'. A fire burning beneath the irises, yet a cool, classically charming composure.

"I need to start from the beginning. Help you understand who you are. But...I can't tell you that story,"

"Why not?" I whispered, more to myself than anyone, "What other things am I to be kept in the dark about?"

"Because he doesn't know the full story."

A regal voice swam out of the now open door of the warehouse, encompassed by darkness but all the same the lightest sound I had heard all day.

A man stepped into view, not particularly tall but with all the majestic features of an eagle in flight, wearing a white open collared shirt and grey slacks. His thick, greying hair was tied back into a neat ponytail, and his expression was grave, as though he too had just been delivered some bad news.

"I am Baek Doo San," he introduced politely, "I think of Hwoarang as my son, but I am in fact only his sensei,"

He gave me a small bow.

"I understand you are very confused," he continued, when I refused to exchange my own pleasantries, "But you are to be no longer. Please, come inside. We can discuss your future there,"

I hadn't the strength to argue anymore. I followed Baek Doo San into the darkened warehouse, followed him right into whatever lurked beyond: a torture chamber? A medieval dungeon? A palace full of gumdrops and rainbows and everything wholesome in the world?

It was none of these things. It was a quaint, modestly furnished room, with bare floorboards and only a few aging sofas slung against each wall as a means of seating arrangements. He gestured that I take the sofa opposite his own, and I obliged.

Hwoarang, to my disappointment, stood beside his sensei – he would now not even meet my eyes, staring straight ahead, as though seeing a distant future that looked particularly grim.

"Coffee? Or tea? English people like Earl Grey, do they not?" Baek asked kindly.

"No, thank you,"

"Okay. Well, shall we begin?"

I nodded once, and braced myself.

Baek Doo San cleared his throat.

"You are aware that Jin Mishima is not fully human? No? Well he is not. He carries what is called a devil gene, which causes him to spontaneously change into a demon himself, and wreak havoc on his loved ones. His father and his grandfather have this very same gene, and his own mother was killed as a result of this genetic fault. No-one knows the origin of the gene, so please do not ask me. Perhaps that dates all the way back to biblical times? Perhaps that was God's punishment for human evils, to send them supernatural ones too?"

"This is all very well, but what the hell does this have to do with me?" I burst out, suddenly, "So what if Jin is what you say he is? So what?"

Baek chuckled softly, and smiled at me.

"Do you believe in God, dear Haven?"

"Why does it-"

"Do you believe in God?" he repeated.

I shrugged.

"Sometimes,"

"Allow me to put it differently to you. Everything has an opposite. Correct? There is hot and there is cold. There is happy and there is sad. There is light and there it-"

"Dark?" I offered.

His smiled widened.

"Very good. Everything has an opposite; it is a law of nature. Now, do you not feel that this law of nature would apply to this devil gene too? If there is a devil gene, there must be an angel gene,"

A realisation was spreading slowly within my bones, climbing, climbing, higher, higher...

"And do you know anyone who possesses such a gene, Haven?"

I shook my head, stood up, fumbled backwards.

"No..no it's impossible..."

"I do," Baek finished, grandly, "She is standing before me now, looking tired and scared but all the same strong. You, Haven, carry the angel gene."

"No! You have the wrong person!" I yelled, "I'm not angelic!"

"You are!" Baek stood now too, gesturing wildly, "This is why Jin wants you! To rid himself of the gene, he must neutralise it! And how must he do that? By finding the angel!"

"The angel..." I repeated, everything that had happened to me in the past year now dawning on me.

My dad, being overly protective.

"_No later than five o'clock , Haven. It's dark outside,"_

"_But dad, I'm seventeen-"_

"_No excuses. Darkness does nothing for young ladies." _

The pastor at home, gushing whenever he saw me.

"_Hello, Miss Haven! How are you this morning? Would you care for a beverage? I have saved a pew for you at the front," _

The death of my mother, and the peace at which I brought to the service.

"_People do not die when they pass away," I had said, smiling through my tears, "They join something greater than this. Greater than earth. They're the lucky ones," _

"I'm an angel?" I said, it barely coming above a whisper.

"The very last," Baek said, matching my own quietness, "The very last in the bloodline. Satan sent Jin. And God, Haven, God sent you,"

"Me," I breathed.

"This is why he wanted you. To find a cure for himself. He's a selfish person. But he didn't used to be," Baek looked sad now, reflective, "He wasn't always Mishima either. He used to take his mother's name, Kazama. That was before the devil took him over. He is barely human now, I have been told. Barely human,"

I stared at him, at all of them. Hwoarang, beautiful. The caramel-skinned girl, resigned. The pig-haired girl, beaming. And Baek, resuming his grave expression, although now a faint twinkle of hope scintillated beneath his tight mouth.

"What does this all mean, though?" I asked, gaining my confidence gain, "I mean, so what?"

"It means," the caramel-skinned girl injected, impatiently, "That you're the only thing that can take the Mishima empire down. And you've got to help us,"

And it was then, at that precise moment, that my head smacked the floorboards, and I was out for the count: I had fainted.


	7. Chapter 7

"_**Haven?" **_

_**I was standing, or maybe I was sitting, in a white room, entirely white, too white, far too white.**_

"_**Haven?" a voice was calling, soft yet menacing. **_

"_**Go away," I mumbled, "I'm not ready yet."**_

"_**Haven? Haven? Oh, Haven!" **_

"NO!"

I sat up, yelling and crying, staring at the face of a bewildered Hwoarang. I was lying in a room on a single bed, draped lightly in a blanket which I had now tossed onto the floor. It was a classically messy bedroom, but the occupant had obviously made a futile effort to tidy up.

"Haven? It's alright, you're safe,"

And then he was sitting beside me, holding me, his hands tightening around my shoulders as I wept, as though trying to squeeze the pain out of me.

Tears gushed from my eyes as I held onto him. What I crying about , I wasn't sure; maybe for my father, dying simply because I had been cursed with a gene; maybe for Jin, for his family at having to suffer from the hands of demons; maybe for myself, that I couldn't be normal, not ever, no way.

"Why me?" I mumbled into his shirt, "Why me?"

He didn't answer, just held me until I had calmed down. A thin line of sunshine was filtering through the shaded windows; it was dawn. I had slept all through the last afternoon, streamed through the night, and was now beginning my second day in Japan.

So far, I really didn't like the landscape here.

"Today, is an important day," Hwoarang said suddenly, standing up and grinning, broadly.

"Why?" I asked, suspiciously.

"Because," he took my hand, yanked me off of the bed, "Today you learn Japanese delicacy!"

I frowned – huh?

"Baek has some minor issues to sort through before we can take down the Mishima's. For now, we show you the good sides of Japan. And don't say there aren't any! I'm not originally from here, but I love it all the same,"

"You're not from here?" I said, surprised, pulling on a pair of shorts and polo shirt than he offered out to me.

I barely registered the shame in stripping in from of a boy having been through so much shit already, but he was courteous enough to fold a hand over his eyes, his cheeks going a ruddy red.

"No, I'm from South Korea,"

"Ah," I said, as if that explained anything.

He led me back into the area filled with sofas, which I assumed was to act as the living room, to see the pig-tailed girl and the caramel-skinned sitting lazily on one, playing poker.

The caramel-skinned girl was losing.

"Hi!" the pig-tailed girl smiled at me, "I'm Ling, by the way. This is Christie. Good sleep?"

"Yeah, yeah thanks,"

Without realising, I instinctively clutched a handful of Hwoarang's shirt, as though he could somehow protect me by just existing.

I was growing fond of him, I noted.

Bad, bad Haven.

I didn't want to hurt him, and I knew I was gathering enough power to do so. But he was so lovely, and so bright, and so happy that I wanted him.

Near me, all over me, in me.

"Where are you going?" Christie asked, eyes narrowing as Hwoarang handed me a pair of tennis shoes that had seen far better days.

"Market. Tonight is Hwoarang's Sushi Bonanza!"

A weird, palpable silence fell over all of us.

I looked at each individual in the face, trying to decipher why there was so much tension in such a seemingly harmless exclamation.

"You-you haven't made sushi since..." Ling trailed off, looking both sad and thoughtful.

"Since what?" I prompted, unaware at how thin the ice I was travelling on was.

Hwoarang swallowed, hard, and I felt him tense from behind me.

"Since Julia died," he finished, trying for a smile and failing terribly.

Ling brushed away stray tears, and even Christie looked forlorn.

"Who was Julia?" I asked, as gently as I could manage.

"She was my girlfriend, Haven. She was...beautiful," he said wistfully.

A dagger struck my heart like lightning would a tree. Beautiful. Julia was beautiful? My head hurt now, thousands of locusts feasting on it, making sure I hurt.

How stupid was I to assume Hwoarang was giving his heart to me!

I felt myself flush, embarrassed at my own arrogance. Hwoarang, interested in me? Of course not. He had Julia, who was beautiful.

Beautiful Julia.

Julia, Julia, Julia.

A hot flash suddenly perforated my vision; the window to my left shattered, throwing shards of glass here and there. I ducked, but Hwoarang was not so lucky – a piece slashed him right across the cheek, knocking him clean out of his reminiscent stupor.

"Holy shit!" Ling got up, observing the now broken window, "What the hell happened?"

"I-I-I," I began, then realised it was meant as a rhetoric and fell quiet.

No-one had noticed yet, but my hands were glowing, bright white lights trickling all over my palms. And then I knew: I had shattered the window. I had done that. I worked myself up into a temper, and SMASH! Goodbye window. And I was supposed to be the angel. I couldn't imagine what Jin did when fury ate him alive.

"Red, you better clean yourself up," Christie said monotonously, handing Hwoarang a towel to swipe at the blood weeping down his cheek.

I just stared at him, blankly. I had done that, had cut his cheek. An angel, hurting someone innocent. Just because I was jealous.

I kept staring, even as Ling cleared away the glass, and as Christie found a bandage, and as Baek walked in, querying as to what exactly had gone on in here.

"The strangest thing..."Ling had begun.

Then I could take no more.

I let out a desperate yelp, and fled from the warehouse.

I couldn't be an angel. I was too evil. I had smashed that window and hurt Hwoarang just because my envy had destroyed my heart. I was a terrible person and I deserved whatever Jin had planned for me.

I ran into a marketplace, perhaps the one Hwoarang was going to escort me to. It reeked of fish and broken dreams, but I scoured the place anyway. Maybe I could get a job here, save some money and get a flight back to England? It might take a while, and it wasn't as though I had much to return to, but maybe one of my English friends would take pity on me, let me stay in their garage until I went to university?

I was just starting to get used to that idea, was beginning to query as best as I could – language barriers were shitheads – when I realised: no passport.

No passport, no oyster card, no NHS, no family, no love life, no nothing.

I bet Julia never had these problems.

"Then again, Julia was not an angel."

I gasped, whipped around so quickly my neck gave a painful twinge down my spine.

I would know that voice anywhere – dreams, nightmares, marketplaces.

Jin Mishima.

"Stay away from me," I said automatically.

With my newly-founded knowledge, it were as though a big red light now surrounded his entire body, warning me of his presence, his existence near me.

I surveyed the area, and saw a Christian cross hanging off of a rotting stool to my right. I grabbed it, and held it up against him.

"Back off!" I yelled, my voice pitching incredibly high.

He gave a soft chuckle. He lifted his perfectly sculpted hand, and swiped the cross from my fingertips, throwing it to the side in the process.

"I'm warning you!" I hissed, as he advanced on me with cold, suggestive steps, "I know what you are! And I know what I am! Now, unless you want this to get ugly, I advise-"

"Advise what?" he murmured, his lips close to my ear now, his breath encircling me.

"I...I..."

He really was a neutraliser. I felt at peace, just being near him. No pressure, no worries, just a happy Haven, a sweet Haven, the English Haven that had friends and was on the cross country team and could bench press more than a girl like her should be able to.

I was attracted to him, but not in the way that I was to Hwoarang. I was attracted to Jin by sheer brute force, an ugly compulsion to be near him. Hwoarang was more..._real. _

Whatever Jin and I were sharing now was fake, and I knew it. It was all just genetics and prophesies, no real substance there at all.

I gave an inwards sigh, and jerked my knee upwards, catching him right in the crotch.

He gasped in pain, and I took advantage of his momentary distraction – I tore through the marketplace, careful to throw baskets of oranges and pears in his way to obstruct him.

Hey, watching all of those Chinese cop dramas was good for something.

I came to a block of flats, black and ominous before me. I could feel Jin closing in on me, so I yanked down the ladder that was partially obscured by a garbage can and began to climb.

My fear of heights had no room to breathe in comparison to my fear of having to be near Jin. What would he do to me...I shuddered just thinking about it.

And still I climbed, up and up and up.

Everything became the size of a pin now, tiny and insignificant whilst I was here, hands touching this dirty, unkempt ladder, trying to thrust myself high enough to escape Jin and his evil desires.

It did not, however, occur to me that Jin too could climb this ladder.

He was only a few rungs below me now, his eyes pure white with fury.

I gulped, and swung myself over the last rung, landing on the roof in one impressive glide.

He mimicked me, and now we stood face to face, as we had in the marketplace. Only now we were two hundred feet in the air, and I was tired.

My lungs screamed at me, trying desperately to replenish the oxygen debt, and I began to cry.

All I seemed to be doing lately was cry, but I believed myself to be entitled to these rare moments of expression, considering the week I was having.

"Now what, Haven? What's the next move for the angel?" Jin asked, in mock sympathy.

I bit my lip, out of plays, and closed my eyes.

_Fly. Haven, you can fly. Jump off this roof and fly, goddamit. He's closing in on you. _

"_But I can't," I thought, "I can't fly!" _

_Yes you can. Remember? Remember that time, when you were nine? _

Suddenly, I did remember.

It was a month or two after my ninth birthday, and I was playing in the treehouse my Dad had built me. It was coming to the end of summer now, and English weather meant that it would last no longer: this was to be its last day before it was taken down. My dad had called for me to be careful, but I had ignored him. Moments after I had ignored his last plea to be more careful, I fell from the great height of the oak tree. What happened next I could hardly recall, except I remembered a flash of light, similar to the one before the window had shattered at the warehouse, and then I was on my feet, looking up into the wide eyes of my father.

I had flown.

"Well? Now what?" Jin asked again.

And to his sheer disbelief, I grinned at him.

"Go to hell, you piece of shit," I beamed, before taking a running leap off of the roof.

I spread my body apart like a frog, thinking back to that day in the treehouse, thinking about Hwoarang, about dad, about Julia...

I was falling.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

I wasn't flying at all, I was tearing through the sky like a cannonball.

Holy SHIT.

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the painful death that was to shortly follow.

And then I heard it.

A flapping noise.

Like...something unfolding.

And low and behold, two long, pure white wings sprouted from my back, hissing at me in annoyance for having broken their slumber for so long.

I could fly.

Goddamit, I was _flying. _


	8. B4 YOU CONTINUE TO CHAPTER 8

Hello, before I begin chapter eight, I would just like to thank everyone who has read any of my stories; your comments have been greatly appreciated, and I am enthused and amused as to see how you react further to the stories I write!

Some very few shout outs:

asukaxjinforever – You have been with my since my very first story. I never forget such things: the loyalty of a fan never goes unrecognised! I promise if you continue to read 'The One That Got Away' you will be greatly pleased. I hate how Jin is evil too, but sometimes people aren't fully evil – sometimes, they just have an absence of good Hang on in there!

XXTakaraXX – Thank you for your support, I hope you grow wings too just like Haven

Everyone else, keep the comments rolling, they make my mornings when I awaken to five or six emails entailing new reviews or 'favourite'-ing my stories.

Stories are my escape from my otherwise pretty shit life.

God and Allah and whatever else you may believe in bless you, be safe and happy!

Crank a.k.a Dayna (my real, earthly name.)


	9. Chapter 8

It is strange, defying the laws of physics.

Whole lives devoted to such ideas, such concepts, only to have them undermined and uprooted in seconds by something improbable, impossible: angels and demons.

Something out of a Dan Brown novel, only less sophisticated. Jin and I, we were still young, hormones raging and hopes still very much alive. I often found characters in Dan Brown novels dead, despite the antics they got up to – they could uncover the mystery of Jesus Christ, but the whole ordeal was as bland as a plain omelette.

Jin and I, if our lives were a story, were different. We bled, and cried, and hurt so badly sometimes that perhaps death was the only thing to look forward to in life.

I had lost a mother: Jin had also. I had to be strong, had to hold all of my emotions in: Jin, likewise. As much as I hated to admit it, Jin and I had a lot in common, strikingly so.

And as flew, high in the air, higher than the tallest skyscrapers Japan had to offer, I was not surprised to hear the unfolding of a second pair of wings, and to see a black shadow move fiercely across the sky.

Of course Jin had wings too.

My luck was so shit.

I concentrated now, focused on where I was going to go. Somewhere he could not follow me. What did demons fear, if anything?

The most obvious choice: church.

A demon could not enter a church, I didn't think.

I scouted one out, saw it with uncanny quickness; with speed that impressed even me, I dived down to the front of squat, dilapidated building, and pushed on the doors with all my might.

I could feel my wings dissolving, fading away as their relevancy became moot. The doors finally screamed open, as though warning me not to enter, and I dashed inside, kicking them closed.

I hid behind a pew, waiting.

Waiting for what felt like hours, days even.

Not a sound.

I vaguely heard something from the roof, as though Jin were trying to claw his way through the ceiling, yet a sharp, bone-chilling shriek soon silenced the scraping noise.

After that, nothing.

The empty sound of a church that had lost most of its congregation a long time ago. Churches, I thought, often had that strange, empty sound. Like the very air you breathed could be heard by God; that he was staring down directly at you, willing you to ask him something, anything.

I stood from where I had been crouched down, and surveyed the area. It was big, and airy, a broken stained glass window filtering through a queer sunlight that burned my eyes.

I strode up the long, endless aisle, and flopped down next to the altar.

"So now what, God?" I asked, staring up at the vacant ceiling.

"You tell me what the hell is going on?"

My eyes widened in surprise, but then I saw Hwoarang materialised in front of me: I didn't move. I couldn't. I was at peace, staring at the blank ceiling, wondering about God. Was he real? Was he nice? Did he like me, or did he think I was wasting my 'gift'?

"Haven? What the hell is going on?" he tried again, but this time I shushed him.

"Don't say that word in here," I whispered, closing my eyes and thinking, thinking, thinking.

"What word?" he said, curtly.

"Hell. Don't say it. He doesn't like it," I said matter-of-factly, standing up now, and facing him.

He looked angry and confused and a little sad; angry at my running out, confused as to why I did, and sad that I didn't seem to care. My heart drowned in sympathy; I reached out, and patted him on the shoulder, which really only contributed further to the awkwardness of the situation.

"Who doesn't like it?" he said, only this time more calmly, more composed.

I clasped my hands together, and looked up.

I wasn't a religious person. Sure, I went to church and I blamed God for the shitty things that happened in my life, but I wasn't devoted. I didn't _care_. And to those of you who say you do, I advise you to think again. Devotion was a strong word, not to be used lightly.

Hwoarang pulled a face, put both his hands around my forearms.

"You don't really believe in this religious crap, do you, Haven? I mean, angels and demons, that's enough, but God? Really?"

I shrugged him off, and stared at him, shaking my head.

"You don't understand..."

"Don't understand what?" he was shouting now, his cheeks flaring as red as his hair from the fury burrowing down deep inside of him, "Don't understand what, Haven?"

"This!" I said, gesturing around me, "You don't understand how I feel right now. You don't understand Him, what he can do-"

"What he can do? I'll tell you what he can do! I had the most beautiful, most amazing girl ripped from my arms, and you know what your God did? Nothing. Your God did nothing."

I swallowed.

It hurt every time: Julia hurt every time.

But I understood now: there were bigger things at stake than my own feelings. I had seen Jin, had seen his wings, had sought refuge in a church because that was the only place he couldn't get to me, couldn't destroy the only hope that the world had left of surviving. He was smart – sooner or later he would figure out how to get into holy places, being who he was, and then I was dead meat.

This wasn't just about me anymore: it was about everyone.

So I did what I had to, and I controlled my temper.

"What happened to Julia?" I asked instead, watching carefully as Hwoarang's face contorted into something of a mad man.

He looked as though he were about to rebut something terribly wicked, but quickly changed his mind. His face softened, and he sighed. I felt sorry for probing, but I had to. My jealously would falter if only I understood Julia, if I got into her head.

"She was killed. By some of the people from the Mishima Zaibatsu. It was half a year ago, I think, maybe more. Jin had thought he had found you. We attempted to rescue her, the girl he was holding captive, when Jin became violent. He killed Julia, and then sent her back to us, bloodied and _dead_. Oh shit, Haven, she was dead. And horrible and bruised and not my Julia, the one that I loved. That's the only thing I can think of when I remember her – her dead eyes, dead skin, dead everything,"

And then he was crying, tears falling from his captivating eyes. I grabbed him roughly and gave him a long, warm hug, as long as he needed to regain his composure. When I finally let him go, he managed a watery smile.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you. It's just...I care about you. I don't want you dying by this monster like Julia did,"

There he went again with this Julia shit. Clearly he wasn't quite over his dead girlfriend yet. You'd think being dead would help the healing process.

"It's okay," I said finally, "Don't worry about it,"

The doors of the church flung open suddenly, and in stormed Christie, followed by Baek. I did not see Ling.

"There you are, you stupid bitch!" Christie shouted, stomping up to me and grabbing me by the collar of the polo shirt.

I gulped, the rage in her eyes enough to scare even the fiercest of monsters. Baek, ever the pacifier, pried her fingers away from my throat, and gave me a tight smile.

"Quite a fright we had when you ran from us, Haven," he said, somehow lacking his enthusiasm for me this time around, "We've wasted a lot of time trying to find you,"

"Dumb asshole," Christie muttered.

"Back off," Hwoarang snapped, "She doesn't belong to us. She can do what she likes,"

"Actually, I owe you all an apology," I piped up.

Everyone fell quiet, giving me time to explain myself. I gave my brightest smile, and explained about the window and the marketplace and Jin.

When I had finished, Christie gave a low whistle.

"Damn. I didn't know you were that strong. We might actually be able to win this thing!" she looked over hopefully at Baek, who did not return her look.

Instead, he was staring at me, hard.

I didn't like it, and my conscience didn't either. But I let it go, like I let so many other things go in my life, simply because my brain was tired and I didn't want a quarrel.

But that look that Baek shot me haunted me that night.

Even as Hwoarang offered his bed to me with a sweet smile, made a move to kiss my forehead which I neatly dodged.

Even as the lights turned off and darkness poured in, thick black oil soup laughing at the sleeping sunshine, at its ignorance of what the world is really like without light.

Even as I closed my eyes and heard a voice in my head, faint and barely audible:

_Keep your eyes open, Haven. Wide open. _


	10. Chapter 9

I awoke to the sun shining brightly through the slivers the blinds gave way to.

A yawn, a stretch, feet falling from the bed to the floor –

A person.

Quick, sudden, but there.

I shot out of bed, stood where I had thought I had seen something.

Or someone.

A bright white light, ghostly and pallid, had been standing by the doorway, leaning against the frame. They were slender and womanly, with pale skin and the hair of a raven. They would have been frightful, had they not worn an expression of complete serenity.

I stood by the door, stroke the frame where I had seen the body.

A few days ago this would have shocked me, I thought to myself. A few days ago I would have fainted at the prospect of seeing a ghoul of some sort. But not anymore.

People change. It is a simple fact of life. No-one stays the same, with no exceptions to this rule. No matter how much you want it, if you begged and pleaded and cried and tore your heart out and offered it to the devil himself would life be able to repeat a moment. Because in reality, the only way is forward. You have to take what you have been given and keep moving forward.

I smiled to myself.

I was so fucking philosophical in the mornings.

I headed to where I heard voices, and saw Hwoarang and Christie talking in hushed tones, a pot of green tea between them.

They fell silent when I approached.

"Sorry – am I interrupting?"

"Not at all," Hwoarang said kindly, gesticulating for me to come closer and have some tea.

He handed me a mug, Christie all the while scowling as I poured the tea, aware that all of a sudden the air had grown cold, and goosebumps had materialised upon the surface of my arms.

"You're cold," Hwoarang frowned, watching carefully as I seated myself on the floor and sipped at my mug.

Warm liquid danced down my throat into my stomach, and I felt my insides beam with happiness at the warmth.

"I'm not surprised. Look at what she's wearing!" Christie spat.

Eyebrows knitted together, I looked down at what I was wearing.

God forbid, I thought, I look like a whore.

Needless to say, sometime in the night I had stripped off my bottoms to my underwear, and had stretched the collar of my t-shirt so it hung lifelessly off of one shoulder, revealing a bra strap and far too much skin.

Hwoarang blushed; I groaned, stood up quickly to change.

Ling appeared behind me, and giggled at my expression.

"I have some trousers and a shirt folded for you on your bed," she laughed, patting me amiably on the shoulder.

Once I had changed, I returned and saw now that everyone was crouched around a map of some sort, Baek included, and had serious veneers plastered to their faces.

"What's going on?" I said, cautiously.

Baek looked up, a false smile touching his thin lips.

"We're making a plan. To take Jin down," he said.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," I said, quickly, perhaps too quickly.

Their eyes all turned towards me, an array of strange stares. I wondered, for a moment, why I was disapproving of their venture. Sure, I was safe, and yes, Jin needed to be 'taken down', but my heart was slamming so violently against my chest, and my ears were ringing at the very prospect of going anywhere near that man anymore. There was something about him that made me think of the smell of water when it soaks into wood. It's a cool, sweet smell, that lifts you and yet crushes you both at the same time.

The lift is the smell itself, refreshing.

The crush, however, is when you realise that the smell is there because of something unwholesome, something horrible: rotting wood.

Jin was exactly that, I thought, a cat with its claws in for the time being. When it came down to the crunch, he would be lethal and stealthy, and no-one would be able to square up to him.

No-one at all.

"Don't be ridiculous," Baek retorted, "We need to take out Jin now, while he's vulnerable,"

"Do you really believe that someone like that could ever be vulnerable?" I shot back.

Baek sniffed indignantly.

"We've risked our lives to protect you out of the goodness of our hearts and yet you continue to undermine us. This is the plan –" he stabbed his long finger at the map before them all, "-and this will be conducted, whether you approve or not, Haven. You are a guest here, not a member of this team,"

Well, that hurt.

His words cut into my skin, entangled with my veins.

He was right, of course.

I had no business involving myself in these matters; and yet, I couldn't bear to have them all walk into a death trap.

Not kind Hwoarang, sweet Ling, aloof Christie, not even cruel Baek. My heart was bleeding for them.

"Please," I said finally, "At least take me with you,"

"NO!" Hwoarang and Christie said in unison.

"Absolutely not," Baek nodded in agreement, folding up the map and tucking it away into his pocket.

I crossed my arms over my chest, and glared at them all.

"I will surrender myself to him. I will find Jin and give myself to him if you don't let me help you. I know it sounds ridiculous to you but I have a feeling you'll need me."

They all looked at me, blankly. I was afraid all of sudden, a terrible feeling casting itself down upon my shoulders, heavy weights breaking my collarbones. What if they died, trying to kill Jin? What if they _died_?

"Haven-" Hwoarang began.

"No," I shook my head, "You have to take me with you! I won't be left here."

"Please," Ling looked at me with watery eyes, "Stay here. Hold the fort,"

"I need to come," I caught the eye of Baek, and held it.

There was a strange silence, as though everyone were pondering the idea. No doubt Christie approved of me being there only for a human shield. But something in Baek's eyes was bright and venomous as I pleaded to accompany them, and I had the feeling that perhaps I was walking right into my own death-trap.

But I couldn't have cared less.

My concept of 'life' had been somewhat deranged ever since that first night, which seemed so long ago now.

Baek cleared his throat, took his coat from the floor and shook it on.

"You stay behind Hwoarang and say nothing," he said simply, and stalked out, followed by Ling and Christie.

I could feel myself smiling; Hwoarang touched my tentatively on the waist to get my attention.

"I don't like this idea," he said.

"I'm not looking for approval,"

"Why do you want to come?"

"In case there's a fuck up,"

"A fuck up?"

"Yes. If something terrible happens, I want to be there. As a bargaining chip, if it is so,"

His face contorted at this idea, and I tapped it gently to unscrew it. I told him not to pull faces; that if the wind changed it would be stuck that way.

"What?" he said, confused, "What wind? What are you talking about?"

I laughed, and suddenly felt rather nostalgic.

I missed home, London, England.

My father, my poor father, what was he doing at this precise moment? Was he panicking? Or was what Jin said true, and he had relinquished me to my fate?

How different Japan and England were!

"Haven?" Hwoarang snapped his fingers in my face, brought me out of my remembrances.

I looked up at him, was about to reply when out of the corner of my eye again, I saw the white flash. I turned on my heel, saw the hair of the woman fade just as my sight fell upon it. Angrily, I marched over to the spot where she had been, swiped my hands through the air. It felt thicker, as though dust had been displaced.

"Did you see that?" I asked Hwoarang over my shoulder, "Did you see that woman?"

He came over to me, eyes wide with confusion.

"What woman? Nobody is in here but us, Haven,"

I shook my head, frustrated. Perhaps this was something to do with Jin and me also. Perhaps now we had this ability to see ghosts, or ghouls, or waif woman dressed in white with pinched smiles.

It was all very strange indeed.

Tired now, and in desperate need of some closure, I sighed, which melted into a yawn.

And that's when I heard the voice.

In my head, burrowed deep and yet still loud and raucous in my mind.

"Haven? Haven, my dear, save my son. Save my son from himself,"

And then a terrible, deafening scream began to sound, not unlike a banshee or young woman being murdered. So loud and so high, I was sure that all of the windows would shatter, that my own eyes would crack from the noise.

It was not until a few moments had passed, that I realised that the scream was my own.


	11. Chapter 10

Shaking shoulders.

I was crying and shaking, pressed my hands against my head and pushed hard.

"Get out!" I yelled, "Get out get out get out!"

The room had disappeared from view; gone was Hwoarang and his fiery locks, the stained windows with the pitiable view, the plain carpeting with its contrary arabesque walls.

Instead I was standing in a white corridor, donned in a white dress and barefooted on white tiles. It was so painfully white that I had to shield my eyes from its glare, scintillating and ethereal.

My hysterics had calmed slightly, and I was able to catch my breath. It is odd when panic consumes you – of course, it seems then like the perfect time to voice opinions or scream for help, but the panic is so overwhelming that breath escapes you, and you find yourself doing absolutely nothing useful other than sucking in great gulps of air, inandoutinandout.

Tiredly, I rested my forehead on the white wall and rubbed at my eyes.

"We don't have much time,"

I whipped my head up quickly, so quickly that my neck gave a twang of pain.

Before me stood the woman I had seen before, her beauty emerging now that we were away from the frivolities and sins of the real world.

Her shiny black hair was straight and cut into a blunt bob, bangs held back by a tight white ribbon. Her dress mirrored my own although she was far thinner than I: she looked chic, I looked like I was wearing a makeshift toga. Her lips were carved into her pale marble face, which was taunt, self righteous, as though crafted by an arrogant god that was determined to create something worth worshipping.

Everything about her screamed danger, deception.

However, there was something about her, that in that moment, I found compelling.

It was the eyes.

Black and bold and somehow hollow, they reminded me of someone that still made my heart clench, despite his murderous intentions.

They reminded me of Jin.

She stepped towards me; I stepped back hastily, almost stumbling.

She laughed a cynical snort that sent shivers up my spine.

"Are you afraid of me? Someone as powerful as you is afraid of a ghost?"

I stared at her, determined not to waver despite fear creeping into all of the nooks in my body.

"Where are we?" I asked carefully, as she advanced on me down the corridor in something that resembled a glide.

"Everywhere and nowhere. Where do humans call this?" she considered, surveyed the corridor with keen eyes.

I shrugged, swept a loose strand out hair out of my eyes.

"Aha!" she snapped her fingers and the entire space shook, "Limbo! Humans call it limbo. I'm dead, Haven,"

She spread out her arms then as though she were going to fly – she didn't, however. Instead, her body began to shimmer, to quiver and quake.

It took me a moment to realise what had happened: suddenly, she was not a solid figure anymore.

In fact, had she ever been?

If I looked into her torso I could see all the way through to the end of the corridor – I had mistaken her paleness for transparency.

"If I see you and you're dead," I asked, pacing a circle around her, "Am I dead too?"

She laughed again then, reached over and touched my wrist. I gasped. I did not feel the impression of a finger lacing itself around my skin. Rather, I felt as though someone had breathed onto me, like diving into a pool in a freezing cold winter and having the wet flesh exposed to air afterwards.

It was a sharp, unkind feeling, and I felt my teeth chatter momentarily.

"You're definitely not dead," the ghost shook her head sympathetically, before seating herself onto the white floor, cross-legged.

It took me a while to decide whether to join her.

Suppose she was bad?

Suppose she was a create of Jin's , sent to flay me alive or something equally as horrific.

It was all very well supposing – clearly, I was not going to get out of this corridor until she told me whatever she had to tell me.

Or kill me.

One of the two.

"Why am I here?" I asked, joining her on the floor.

She was combing her frigid fingers through her hair, looking at me placidly.

"You're so very pretty," she remarked, "I wanted a pretty girl to be the one who saved him,"

Silence.

I wasn't sure how to respond without sounding either retarded or vulgar.

"Sorry," I cleared my throat, "But who am I meant to be saving?"

She held out her hand, a wispy outline of what should have been, and in it appeared a photo. She thrusted it towards me, and I took it carefully in my own hands, sensing that this was a particularly sentimental image for her, one she wished to keep for the rest of her time in limbo.

I recognised the little boy in the photo straight away, although he looked so different now. Now he looked so unhappy, so displeased with the world and the cards he had been dealt.

In this photo, however, he looked cheerful. He was beaming up at the camera, shaggy black hair covering his eyes. A woman was standing next to him, an arm slung over his shoulders and grinning maniacally too.

_Jin and his mother, Jun, September 4__th__, 1999, Osaka, Japan. _

"Jin is your son," I whispered, more to myself than to her.

The horror in my voice was difficult to hide, and Jun sensed this. She watched me cautiously, wondering if I'd begin screaming and hammering at my head again.

"Jin is your son," I said more confidently this time, looking his mother dead in the eye.

"Yes. He's my little boy. My prince," she smiled as she said this, and through gritted teeth I smiled back.

As much as Jin was currently the hot number one on my "People I hate and wish to burn in hell" list, seeing this woman sitting before me, pale and dejected and begging for my help, made me second guess what I had been convinced of.

Perhaps there was more to Jin than anyone, even he himself, was willing to tell me. How could something I had been thoroughly convinced was evil, have been borne from the woman opposite me, who looked as though she didn't have a mean bone in her body?

With a sigh, I gesticulated that she should commence whatever she had brought me to limbo to say.

"There's something you need to know about Jin, before you embark upon whatever mission those cruel people have set you up for. Jin is evil," she said, frankly.

I drew back in mock surprise.

"No? Seriously? I would never fucking have guessed. Now if that's all you brought me here to say-"

I stood, looking around for an exit.

"Wait!" Jun grabbed at my ankle, which felt like it had been plummeted in ice water, "I'm not even near done!"

I stared at her, hard.

"And if this is a trick? If Jin asked you to get me here so he could draw a dagger through my heart? Why should I listen to you?"

"Because I don't want my son to pay the price for the mistakes of my husband. Please, Haven. You're the last hope I have. Just listen. Even if you don't agree to help, or want out, I just want you to listen. Will you?"

I bit my bottom lip.

No, I wanted to say. Nonononononono. I just want to go home. I want to be away from this world, this odd, odd world where people could fly and love and lose all at the same time. Where devils roamed the earth and humans were not human at all, not really.

I wanted London, England, where the weather was so shit the suicide rate went up in the winter because it was so cold; where the NHS was exploited by the hypochondriac couple that lived on my street, who managed to contract bronchitis, athletes foot and chronic constipation all in one week – even the miserable postman that once had a mental breakdown on my doorstep and made me make him a cup of green tea.

This world was not my own.

Then again, maybe my old one wasn't either.

Maybe that's just the thing about life. Most of the time you're taking unguided stabs in the dark. There is no luck, only fate.

Too many locks, not enough keys.

"Tell me your story," I said finally, "Tell me your story,"

Jun smiled at me, dimples showing that were rather endearing.

"I married Kazuya Mishima when I was eighteen and had Jin two years later. Kazuya was much older than me but I fell in love for some reason. I loved him and I loved our son. But there was something wrong with Kazuya. He had a genetic fault in him that had been passed through his bloodline since the first dynasty. He had a devil gene, which caused him incredible pain. When he became particularly angry, or sad, or scared, he would change into this...into this great demon thing, and would destroy everything in his path. Unfortunately, one day, when Jin was eleven, I wasn't quick enough when he changed, and...and...-"

Her voice caught in her throat, and she began crying silent tears. They dripped down from her petite face and dissolved into the floor.

"He killed me. No-one could stop him, he was uncontrollable, he was inconsolable. I thought that to roam the earth like his father, bitter and furious, was Jin's fate too. But in limbo I have been taught a few things. On this earth, exists things called Illumines, formally known as angels. They are the devil gene's counterpart. To cure the devil gene, one must find an illumine and become one with them. I was not an illumine, and I could not save Kazuya. But you, Haven, you are an illumine. You're special. You can save my son,"

Her last line hit me square in the face, knocked the wind out of me.

So this is why Baek and Hwoarang were so anxious to keep me safe. Illumines, Jun explained, were a scarce breed and power hungry people wanted to exploit their powers.

"Wait a moment," I interrupted Jun, "If I'm an angel, and Jin knows, perhaps he has been trying to capture me to cure himself? Like you suggest,"

Jun shook her head, sadly.

"Jin wants to use you to cure his father, and his grandfather, the only living people carrying the gene besides him. When he does that he will kill you and have the ultimate use of his devil gene. He is powerful, Haven. More powerful than you will ever know. But you are powerful too. You could help him destroy his own devil gene, once and for all,"

More silence.

This was all just too heavy to drink in.

How could I save someone like him? If I went within an inch of him he'd slice my head off.

And what made Jun think I could change the devil? I was a silly teenage girl, who still kept a stuffed tiger teddy bear named Whiskey on her bed and sang to him when she was lonely.

I couldn't convert Satan.

Could I?

"Sorry, this is all just a bit much," I said to Jun.

She nodded.

"Understandable. But at least now you know. At least now you have a _choice_,"

" A choice?"

"To decide whether you want to kill Jin, or cure him,"

She stood then, turned on her heel and began to walk down the corridor, away from me. She began to shimmer and fade, and I panicked – I still had so much to ask her.

"And if I choose neither? If I want to go home and forget this whole this ever occurred?"

"I'm afraid that is not possible," she said without turning to face me, "You've been exposed as an Illumine now, an angel. Everyone will sense it and flock to you,"

"No going back?"

She had reached the end of the corridor, and a door materialised. She reached for the knob, but did not draw the door open. She began to fade into it, and just had time to reply:

"No going back. Be a good angel, Haven,"

Then she was gone.

And in the blink of an eye, the white room collapsed in on me, and I found myself in a place where I found calm, solace, peace in all of the tangles of the world around me.

I was lying on my back, staring up at the one hundred foot high beams holding together this safe infrastructure around me.

I wasn't in Hwoarang's place anymore: I was in a church.


End file.
